HoE: Deane's Debut

<Darkling> Damn that sun was hot. Not a cloud in the sky, and hasn't been since you broke camp this morning. At least this was an easy job, guarding this merchant on the way to some backwater town with another gunslinger. Still, the smell of the three of you baking in the sun wasn't getting any better.
<Darkling> "Should only be an hour or so more." The merchant states, mostly to you as the other guard is asleep.
<Deane> "Thank the lord." Dean has pulled off his leather jacket, thumbs in his belt-loops, "It's hotter'n the trail in '92."
<Darkling> "So, you ain't talked much this whole time. What're you doing in these parts here?"
<Deane> He sniffed, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette that isn't there, "Lookin' for somebody. You should be glad I ain't talked much- preacher back home used to say I could gab on fr'ever, if'n I had the reason to. Trip like this, ain't much to talk about, save the heat, right mister?"
<Darkling> "Always something to talk about, helps pass the time anyway." He pulls a flask out from his shirt taking a swig before offering it to you.
Deane chuckles and takes it gladly, "Oh thank you kindly. I haven't had a touch of the whiskey since we left, and I've been hankerin' me some." He takes a sip and smacks his lips, "Mm, funny 'nuff, my aim and all gits better when I've got a little sauce."
<Darkling> The merchant chuckles. Drink'll do all sorts of wonderful things to ya."
Deane smiles and rolls his head across his shoulders, "Once we git to town, I'm gonna have to git some cigarettes or tobacca. I'm achin' for it." He passes back the flask and reaches into his pocket for the cigarette that isn't there, again.
<Darkling> "Soon enough. Soon enough." The other guard snorts in his sleep, his large bulk rolling over with a thud. "Well, at least I ain't paying him for his brains."
Deane chuckles, "Can't pay for nothin', can ya?" Dean eyes the other guard, "Sheit, did he take night watch?"
<Darkling> "He said you did," He looks back up at him, "Lazy ass bastard. Why I aught to-auk!" A dark red stain starts forming on his chest, you didn't even hear the gunshot or the horses, but you can certainly see the bandits charging up on you now.
Deane jumps, "Shit!" He starts murmuring a prayer, going to draw his gun and get into cover, "Hey asshole! Wake up!"
<Darkling> "Huh? Whu?" The guard on top of the wagon gets up, just in time to be caught between the eyes by a bullet. He topples backwards, flipping the whole cart with him and throwing you behind it. At least you found cover.
<Deane> "Fuck!" Deane cocks his pistol, peeking past the cover to the bandits.
<Darkling> A few bullets hit the wagon, but the bandits seem rather reckless, firing without thinking. That or they're lousy bandits.
Deane brings his gun to bear, aiming to fire at the closest. It's hardly a smooth motion, but he squeezes on the trigger.
<Darkling> Looks like the drink is working, the bastard jerks back and falls sideways off his horse.
<Darkling> The other bandits start shouting at each other, now they're shooting smarter.
Deane grins, before yelping and getting back into cover. He looks around, taking in the scene and his situation.
<Darkling> Well, lard-ass is dead, brains splattered across the desert. The merchant looks dead, he's a few feet behind you, must've rolled when the cart went over. Two more bandits are still over there, it won't be long before they realize they can flank you though.
Deane curses, stepping out and firing, standing out of cover for a little too long as he pulls at the trigger several times.
<Darkling> Cussing and gunshot greets you, looks like your luck is up though, you're just as bad of a shot as them.
<Darkling> "Come out ye scrawny bastard!" One of them shouts.
Deane curses, "If my gun could shoot faster..." He frowns, "Fuck you, friend! Why don't you come o'er here, and I'll mess you up right proper!" Dean steps out and aims before firing this time, "Stupid little punks!"
<Darkling> Wood splinters and flies at you as the wagon takes more hits. You manage to peg one of their horses causing it to rear up and fall over on top of the bandit. That's the sound of ribs cracking.
Deane winces, "Oof, that'll leave a mark." He checks his magazine for ammunition, reaching for his jacket pocket for the spare magazine... And swearing as he has to step out to grab his jacket, aiming to fire at anybody, more to keep them down than actually kill them.
<Darkling> The one bandit bursts past you on his horse, not even aiming his gun now, horse kicking up dust as fast as it can to gain distance.
Deane turns, emptying the magazine after him, "No you don't, you little bastard! Git back here and finish what you started!"
<Darkling> You can hear him whoop and holler some insult back at you, but he's far gone.
Deane stamps, "Stupid, wasting that much ammo." He returns to his jacket, reloading his gun and checking the trader for a pulse, "Hey mister, you still with us?"
<Darkling> "Pffah!" He spurts blood up in your face, lovely. "Fucking... fuckers!"
Deane gags, wiping away the blood, "Sheit, mister, don't move. Where'd they get you..." He starts looking for the entry wound, finding it from the bleeding, "Sheit, you got a kit for this stuff? How far's the town?"
<Darkling> Hit through the lung, from the looks of the hole. There's blood everywhere. "Fff.. Don't," He hacks up some more blood. "I'm done fer boy. Ain't no way I'm gonna make it."
Deane shakes his head, "Don't talk like that mister, don't say that. You gotta have a first aid kit!" He stands and goes to look for one, "Just don't give up on me, or I swear ta god I'll kick yer ass!"
<Darkling> "Hey!" He grabs you as you try to leave him. "You, gotta do something fer me." He goes int a coughing fit, so much blood everywhere. "Th-there's a box in my wagon. Take-take it to Wash in Logandale."
Deane stops, leaning down, "Yessir. Swear on my life, it'll git there."
<Darkling> "Get it to Washh..." He sputters some more blood out and goes limp.
Deane swears, sighing and reciting a prayer over the man. When finished, he stands, going to find the bandit that was probably still alive.
<Darkling> No such luck, you're surrounded by dead men.
Deane shakes his head and checks them for ammo, food, and cigarettes, before returning to the caravan to find the box for the man (and take a peek at the rest).
<Deane> "What could they have possibly wanted from us."
<Darkling> You find nothing of real value in the wagon. Looked like there was some fancy glass eggs that smashed when it flipped over, clothes, food rations, and an ornate little wood box.
Deane sighs and attempts to her the wagon to a state where it can move again. He takes off his jacket to drag the guard and trader to a nice spot to sit before returning to get the horse moving again.
<Darkling> The wagon is much too heavy for one man to lift upright on his own, it's going to be staying put.
Deane curses, kicking the wagon, "Stupid god-damn..." He sighs, apologizing to the Lord before going to the bandit's horse, examining it carefully before attempting to mount it.
<Darkling> It kicks at the ground a bit, but doesn't seem to mind you getting on it's backside.
Deane sighs, "You'll have to do." He leads it back to the wagon, grabbing the box and as many of the food rations as he can to shove into his backpack. He turns to leave, before stopping to examine the clothes. "Well... He don't need them no more..."
<Deane> "And my shirt is dirty... and stained."
<Darkling> The ones in the cart are too, but they don't have blood all over them at least.
Deane switches his shirt for a nicer one, "Figure he can't pay me in his state, might as well give me a clean shirt." He sighs and goes to free the merchant's horse, swatting it on the backside before turning back to "his" horse.
<Darkling> It whinnies and gallops off, nothing else left here.
Deane climbs onto "his" horse, heading towards... "Logandale? Jesus..." He glances back at the trader, "You rest easy, friend. I'll tell the preacher in Logandale about ya." With that he spurs the horse onwards, hitting the trail.
<Darkling> ----------------------
<Darkling> Nearly an hour later, you're trotting into Logandale. Looks like there's been some trouble here too, people eye you a little suspiciously.
Deane frowns, looking around, "This bodes well." To the nearest man, he calls out, "Where's the preacher?"
<Darkling> "Ain't no preacher in this town." Someone shouts back.
Deane frowns, "No preacher? Bar then!"
<Darkling> The same helpful fellow points down the main road, you can see a single tavern sign from here outside of which it appears the local sheriff is dragging a body away from.
Deane nods, "Thanks friend, god bless." Without waiting for a response, Deane clicks the reins to send the horse that way, cantering towards the sheriff, "You the lawman, sir?"
<Darkling> He looks up from the body, you can't help but notice looks an awful lot like the bandits you just fought. "That I am, how can I help you?"
Deane nods, "I was traveling with a trader a'for we were hit by some bad types. I'm lookin' for a man by the name of... Wash?"
<Darkling> "What's yer business with Wash?" He stands fully now, putting his hands on his hips.
Deane clears his throat, "Gotta box for him. He another trader or summat?"
<Darkling> "Not that I'm aware of. Why don't you come down from there, Wash'll be by any moment now."
Deane gets down from the horse carefully, hand going to his pocket, "Who's the feller on the ground?"
<Darkling> "You ain't from around here are you? This is one of the Devil Dog's boys. Mean bastards." He gives the corpse a boot. "They decided to pick a fight they couldn't win and a few of em escaped to the north."
Deane shakes his head, "Not 'tall sir. I came across three 'a these fellas on the way up. S'why there's just me."
<Darkling> "Hm." A woman with auburn hair and a splash of freckles across her face walks over. "Deputy Wash, this fella here's looking for you. You know 'im?"
Deane turns and nods, eyebrow raised.
<Darkling> She shakes her head. "Who are you mister?"
Deane shifts his stance, "Name's Dean, I was traveling with a trader a'fore we were jumped by a pack'a those fellers." He nods to the corpse, "Dyin' wish, man told me to deliver a box t'you." He gives a brief description of the trader.
<Darkling> "...pa?"
Deane blinks, "Oh... Oh, sheit, miss, I'm sorry. I came to find a preacher for him soon as I could, but..." He looks down.
<Darkling> The sheriff puts a hand on her shoulder as she wipes a single tear away. "It, it isn't your fault. Thank you for telling me.."
Deane nods, taking off his bag and kneeling to take the box out, carefully minding his guitar, "I can tell you where he is, if you want to get somebody out there to put him under." He opens the bag, fumbling for the box amongst the rations.
<Darkling> She nods and holds out her hands to receive the box.
Deane passes it over carefully, making sure she has it before letting go, "There was clothing and food in the wagon too, sheriff"
<Darkling> "I'll get a few folks together to go out and recover what we can for Wash here, and bury them proper."
<Darkling> Wash takes the box from you, opening it up. A small tune chimes up from it. Looks like it was an old fashioned music box, ballerina dancing inside and all.
Deane nods, "Good. There's the other bandits too, but I'm sure god'll sort them out his way."
<Darkling> Wash sniffs and gives you an impromptu hug. "Thank you again."
Deane hugs back, "Shoot miss, just glad I could get it to you." He listens to the tune, noting it down for later. "Your father was a nice man to me, when I knew him."
<Darkling> She nods and retreats back a bit. The sheriff takes your hand shaking it as his other puts and arm around your shoulder. "Let's go have a talk in my office now about everything."
Deane shakes it back, suddenly worried and reaching down to grab his bag, "Right, right." He follows the Sheriff as he is lead away, "There wouldn't be a bounty on those fellers, would there?
<Darkling> ==========END==========